


Forget Slow Motion

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles moves in. Finally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Slow Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Little bit of fluff as prompted by loveamongowls over on tumblr. Sorry there's less porn than I intended.
> 
> Is there a term for fluff without plot? Because that's what this is.

Stiles rubbed at his back when he put the last box down in the spare room. Derek just laughed at him. He’d done most of the actual lifting, with Scott helping and Stiles supervising. The Sheriff had shown up during the last load of boxes and helped as well, despite Stiles’ fussing. Derek had been surprised there had been more than one load, to be quite honest. Derek had been sure that most of Stiles’ stuff had migrated to his apartment over the years they’d been together. And Stiles had been living at home. It wasn’t like he had plates and pans and stuff. Or furniture.

“Man, that was hard.” Stiles looked around at the neat pile of boxes. 

Scott punched him, gently, in the arm. Then he towed Stiles into a headlock. “Got to get going, man. Work.”

“Work?” Stiles grinned. “I don’t remember you being this eager to get to work in the past. That new receptionist…”

Scott let Stiles drop and waved to Derek on the way out of the door, in the casual see you later way that presumed friendship and a continuing _mi casa es su casa_ kind of thing. Derek shrugged his goodbyes and turned back to see Stiles abandoning the boxes and heading for the kitchen.

“What?” Derek looked to Stiles’ dad for some kind of help. John shook his head.

“Remember – no take backs.” There was an odd kind of twist to John’s mouth, half happy and a little bit sad all at the same time. “I’m going to head home.”

“You… It’s not like he’s gone back to Boston.” Derek closed the door of the guest room. He had bookshelves to build to hold Stiles’ books and DVDs and stuff. There was a spare desk in the room already and Derek didn’t really need the bed that was in there. It would make a nice office for Stiles.

The Sheriff’s nodded and drifted off to the kitchen to say something to Stiles while Derek stuck the bag of lacrosse gear Stiles had brought into the hall closet. Most of the junk in there belonged to Stiles anyway.

“Dinner on Sunday? Melissa said something about lasagna.” The Sheriff grinned more easily now as he tugged his coat on. “I’m sure you can pick up what Stiles has forgotten then.”

 

Stiles was standing in front of the open refrigerator when Derek ambled in. Derek stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame.

“I can’t decide if I want a sandwich or just want to make dinner or want to wait until later.” Stiles closed the door without taking anything out and leaned back against the counter. “Or we could order in. Or dinner out. You could take me out.”

“If that’s what you want.” Derek waited. He knew Stiles was working up to something. He’d learned that about Stiles before they’d even got together. He’d missed it when Stiles was off to college, spent the time writing and deleting emails. And now Stiles was back, permanently. And had moved into his apartment. And hadn’t dumped him when they’d had that epic fight and all the other little ones in between.

“It’s just a little weird, right.” Stiles pushed himself upright before jumping up on the kitchen counter and drumming his heels. “Being here.”

“You’ve basically lived here since you’ve been back.” Derek pointed out, before crossing the space between them to fit himself between Stiles’ knees. “I do your laundry with mine.”

“ _Some_ of my laundry.” Stiles rested his hands on Derek’s shoulders and nodded. “Now it’s, like, all of my laundry.”

“Your dad’s going to be fine. With Melissa.” Derek hazarded a guess that was worrying Stiles but he’d obviously missed the mark when Stiles shook his head.

“Yeah. It’s not that.” Stiles tugged Derek closer into a brief kiss. “I’m just full of feelings, I guess. So. Dinner?”

“I got you a present.” Derek pulled away to grab the bag from the hallway. Stiles followed him, muttering about presents and Derek and something to do with flying pigs that Derek carefully tuned out. “Here.”

Stiles grabbed the bag and peered inside. “A key ring?”

“It beeps when you’ve lost your keys. You do something with your phone and it beeps.” Derek wrinkled his nose. “I just don’t want you to ever get locked out.”

“It’s very practical.” Stiles raked in the bag while Derek held his breath. This was the real present. “There’s something else.”

Derek had wrapped the other present or, more accurately, the woman in the shop had offered to gift wrap it and Derek had nodded and then had to choose paper and colors and ribbons which meant he was longer than he’d meant to be and almost late to open up the shop. Isaac had been waiting for him with raised eyebrows, but since Derek knew more than he really ever wanted to know about Isaac’s sex life, he’d ignored them.

Stiles was a careful unwrapper. He unpicked ribbons and slid his long, careful fingers under the tape rather than ripping through. Derek waited, holding on to the shreds of his patience. But it was all in vain when Stiles didn’t say anything. Derek couldn’t even read his face as Stiles looked at the framed picture in his hands for too many long silent minutes.

“Well?” Derek demanded, half worried he’d gone wrong.

“It’s a photograph,” Stiles told him, as if Derek hadn’t given him the picture in the first place. Stiles’ knuckles started to go white with how hard he was holding it.

“Yeah.” Derek tilted it towards him. Lydia had taken it last Christmas, claiming she wanted to test a lens she’d invented to cut down werewolf eye glare. Derek hadn’t believed her but he’d let her bully them all into various groups and positions and pairings and attempted to smile. Derek had printed the one of Stiles and him and the Sheriff off and framed it and now he was here, trying to work out what his boyfriend thought about it.

“Why?” Stiles looked like he was utterly confused, which was something Derek didn’t really see that often. “I thought you were just going to give me some kind of sex toy.”

Derek should have thought of that. He should have picked up that pair of ridiculous furry cuffs that Stiles always mocked him about instead of giving a picture that was making Stiles – fuck – cry. Derek could smell the salt and he grabbed at Stiles to haul him into a hug. “My walls are bare – mostly.” There was an Avengers poster that Stiles had hung and explained who everyone was painstakingly to Derek and anyone else who sat still long enough to listen – Derek was the Hulk, apparently. “And I thought how nice it is when people hang pictures in their hallway. And I thought this could be the first one for ours.”

“I thought you’d done decorating.” Stiles was grinning now, a little mischievously like the shit he could be. Stiles had supervised a whole lot of the decorating, leading to Derek having to re-prime the floor after a particularly messy paint fight that had led to messy paint covered sex.

“You know it’s your place as well. You live here. With me.” Derek could feel his face forming a sappy smile without his say-so but was unable to stop it. “You live with me.”

“Yeah.” Derek didn’t feel so bad because Stiles was wearing an expression that probably mirrored his.

“So I wanted you to put up some things too. And we could put up things.” Derek shrugged. “And I’m thinking Chinese.”

 

Stiles was battling him for the last piece of chili chicken with his chopsticks when he seemed to get lost in thought again. Derek ate the chicken – he had learned not to be entirely merciful around Stiles and chopsticks – and waited.

“Earlier. What I meant. This is permanent. I’ve moved out. And it’s just a bit odd. Because this was your space – and I know I was over all the time – but now it’s ours.” Stiles spattered a blob of sticky sauce on his t-shirt as he waved his chopsticks around. “I’m contributing to rent and utilities and shit.”

“Still not a grown up,” Derek pointed out, snagging another piece of chicken. 

Stiles raised his middle finger at him. “It’s an adjustment, asshole.”

“I know what will help with that.” Derek wasn’t hungry for food anymore. While he waited for Stiles to catch up with him, he started consolidating the leftovers and switching off the TV.

Stiles kicks him in the thigh before clambering up. “I think I could stand to shower off this sweat, from moving all those boxes.”

“Need a hand with that?” Derek grabbed the cartons and took them through to the kitchen, some for the refrigerator and the others for the garbage. “Because if all you’re looking for is someone to wash your back…”

“I was thinking you could rim me. And then we could have hot moving in sex. Because-“ Stiles face broke into the biggest, mildly creepy grin he could manage. “Because we should totally have that.” He cackled and started stripping on the way to the bathroom, tossing his t-shirt over the back of the sofa. Derek followed him, taking his own clothes off so quickly he was sure some of the seams probably burst. Werewolf speed meant he had caught up with Stiles and could crowd him into the shower and kiss him stupid. Stupider.

Kiss him like he wasn’t going anywhere. Derek was entirely happy with that.


End file.
